angel gates
by purple jellybean hoarder
Summary: In the last angel war, Edward Elric died. Now, in the mist of another war, turmoil arises again. Whether it is for faith, honour or duty, purpose is what drives them all. But when angels lose their way, where else can they look to? --semi-AU, RoyEd--
1. a dark angel's sin

**Angel Gates **by purple jellybean hoarder

Category: semi-AU

Disclaimer: FMA doesn't belong to pjh. If it were, I won't be a depressed university student.

Warning: may be confusing. For more info, look to the AN at the bottom

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**title: a dark angel's sin.**

_This must be a dream._

Colonel Roy Mustang stood solemnly in the rain. It hardly ever rained. Why was it raining now?

He blankly stared at the various tear streaked faces. At the darkness of their clothes. It looked out of place, somehow. The blue of their uniform was the only constant he had ever since remembered. Something terrible had happened. But still, he felt detached.

_They all displayed their wings, out of respect._

The ceremony was long, and the mood was sobering. There was a dreadful feeling creeping up his neck. It was the same type of helplessness that gave way to despair. His thoughts became clear, clear and logical. Too logical. It almost frightened him—he wanted to remain numb. But what was he remembering now?

"_Ignorance was never quite your forté__, Roy."_

"Maes," he whispered. Was it his fault? His terrible ambition? Did his friend ever regret working with such a fool? He had left his family behind. His lovely wife—oh God, what about his daughter?'

_No peace even in death?_

The line of caskets continued, each triggering a tiny jolt of tormented memory. The sour taste in his mouth grew metallic and bitter. It was ironic, really, even in victory, there was no joy. Their lives weighed heavily upon his conscious, and he was still powerless. But until how long will they suffer under the will of a martial rule?

_I want to be Fuhrer._

The last casket was finally brought up, adorned in full military honour. He knew it was empty, just he knew that everyone else knew. He looked to the young Alphonse Elric, now whole and corporal, looking lost and forlorn. Did he realize what had happened?

_Nothing can survive through holy fire._

A most fitting retribution, he thought sadly. For the deeds that only they could swear secret to. Perhaps this was how he too, would leave as, cleansed and purified, disintegrating back to the very origin of their doubts.

They had first met with different purposes in mind: he, to stop a war, and the other to save his brother. Yet it was a common goal that united them together, so that with their resources and intellect, formulated a theory so controversial and taboo, it could very well destroy the whole angel society. They both knew the risks, and had foreseen the consequences. But they were strong-willed and determined—what possible punishments could be worse for those who had incurred the wrath of God?

"_My little brother is all I have…"_

He, who was so instrumental to their whole success, but had to plunge himself further into a world of sin. He had lost him! He cried silently. He didn't mean to, had never meant for it to happen! But he was so young and talented, so very brilliant—why did it have to end like this?!

_It is the price of equivalent trade!_

And as he watched that casket lowered, sank, disappeared beneath soft earth, it was when the full impact of the situation dawned upon him, when memories rushed back and grief tore through—

_Purpose is what drives us all…_

—past all obstacles, he will, for the sake of his own peace and the memory of that person, follow through his promise—

_Now it's my turn._

The Fullmetal Alchemist was dead.

-----

**AN**: whoa, this idea just popped out of nowhere as I was cooking pasta. How weird was that? This story is quite cliché, in my opinion, another fic about angels. My love for AUs are... bizzare. Anyway, despite the idea in my head that just keeps running round in circles and won't leave me alone, I think that I'll leave this as a oneshot. I'll see what happens


	2. alphonse

**Angel Gates **by purple jellybean hoarder

Category: semi-AU

Disclaimer: FMA doesn't belong to pjh.

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**title: alphonse**

To the brother I cannot remember.  
To the brother I must have loved.  
To the brother I miss every day.

I keep looking at your picture by the nightstand. Your dark red coat was billowing slightly in the breeze. Your black boots caked with mud, your golden braid swayed. It was summer, as I can tell, from the green of the field, and the richness of the colour. It had been a beautiful day and you had stood in front of Aunt Pinako's house with Winry—with a sad and wistful smile.

And to your left, that giant metal armour, was me.

I, who was once a bodiless soul, devoid of use or function, you had fought for me. Even if it drained half of your power to keep my soul on this plane, still you fought for me.

At the end, in exchange for my body, you readily lost your life. How cruel. In a bizarre twist, I paid a price too—and although I aged the four years that I had resided in that empty shell, I lost all memory of you.

Your presence in my life, all that we've been through, disappeared. There was nothing gained in this bitter end! Oh—I retained knowledge and places and those who we have met in those four years, but I cannot remember you in any of my memories, so it seemed that I partook on that journey alone. Who are you? A stranger? You are my brother—but I cannot remember a single moment that you were in my life.

Is this a dream? Or a cruel joke?

To everyone else, they knew you, or at least, have heard of you. Spoke of you in awed, hushed voices. And here I am, with no recollection of you, to the point that I doubt if I even had a brother at all.

Were you kind? Were you forgiving? Were you as brave as they told me? Were we close brothers? What did we talk about? How much did you regret, when your life was weighted down with tremendous guilt? In the last moments when we were together before you died, did you look at me with sad eyes? Or were they fierce and hopeful for the future?

And when it was all over, did you surrender yourself to reincarnation?

They say that angels who do not deserve to die are born again as humans. And that is why we watch over them with gentle eyes, guard over them with all our power—not because of God's will, but because they were once our loved ones… and our heroes.

I want to see you again. So I can find out for myself, see with my own eyes, the extraordinary person you were and continue to be. No matter how long, I'll wait.

Niisan, you have to come back.


	3. 4000 years later

**Angel Gates **by purple jellybean hoarder

Category: semi-AU

Disclaimer: FMA doesn't belong to pjh.

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**Title: 4000 years later**

A golden head was bent studiously over a large leather-bound book. Eyes darted quickly to a folder, while his hand snatched a nearby pen, ready to start yet another furious bout of note-taking—

"What are you still doing here?"

Edward paused in mid-action, pen hovering millimeters from the paper. He smirked but didn't turn around. "You need me around. You know how much this means to me. _And_ you." He tipped his chair back to look at the person casually leaning against the closest bookshelf. "Besides, who else would be around to listen to your endless babble of more mythical hoax?"

_And who else would understand you, as if I had been there myself?_

Maes sniffed in mock hurt, but then smiled broadly. "Isn't that a relief." He tossed him a thin hard covered book. "Our fruits of labour. I can't believe that sucker actually took three weeks to find."

"Where was it?" Ed was already flipping through the pages eagerly. _The Last Angel War_, the title read.

"In the bottom most stack of the children's fantasies."

Ed quirked an eyebrow. "That's about as ridiculous as it gets."

Maes turned to leave. "Tell me about it. Hey, I'm going to get some coffee. You want?"

No answer.

Maes opened his mouth to ask again but stopped when he saw Ed busy concentrating again. He shrugged and turned back to the lounge kitchen. Better get his student some anyways. Ed had never once rejected coffee.

---

When Maes returned with two steaming mugs, he found Ed with his feet propped up on the table and a contemplative look on his face. The notes scattered forgotten around him.

"You know, if souls were to really cycle on in human lives, we should at least retain some form of recognition for each other and that would easily conclude the end of my thesis."

Maes found a comfortable spot on the couch. He leaned back and wagged a finger at Ed. "Ah, ah, ah! Parallels, my dear body. God was angry, and punished us by separation. That way, we all start out again as strangers when we are born. And our past memories—if we still remember them at all—turns out to be so convoluted compared to our boring human lives that the only place they can ever belong to is in the form of storybook fantasies." He nodded to the book next to Ed's feet. "He scrambles the order of our rebirths so that it's impossible to relate to anyone no matter how much they haunt us." His green eyes took on a darker hue. "Even for the rest of our lives," he whispered.

Ed blinked and looked down at his hands. He clenched his left hand, then his right. He frowned again. That feeling again. He rubbed the thumb and his index fingers. There was nothing wrong with his right hand. But why did he often have feeling of…detachment?

"Well," said Ed, shoving his hands into his pant pockets. "I guess God sure must've been cursing when he saw the moment we first met."

Maes looked at him from the corner of his eye. "You got that right," he said softly. "Anyway, why don't we call it a night? It's already quite late and I have to teach in the morning."

"Brutal. Oh, I almost forgot. Did you get that email about the conference next week? I bet the pinheads over there are just _dying_ to hear what other forms of preposterous evidence I've found since my last presentation." The sarcasm was so thick that Maes had to keep himself from wincing.

"Hey, don't worry about what they think. As long as I support you, that's all that matters."

"Aren't you worried about your reputation?" Ed asked casually as he started stuffing his notebooks into his shoulder bag.

"Ha! Actually, I'm more worried about yours. The prodigal son of the nation's top biochemist dabbling in a field that has nothing to do with his hard-earned physics degree—speaking of which, how's the family?"

"What are you, insane? The old man can do whatever he wants to. I can care less." Ed put on his long black coat and fastened the buttons together. "He's working on some crazy project in the basement. I don't even know if he sleeps at night."

Maes raised both his eyebrows but kept his eyes trained on Ed. "That's pretty intense. But then again, nothing your dad has come up was ever short from amazing."

"Yea, yea." Golden eyes rolled carelessly. "As if the whole world doesn't know that already." He collected his pen and looked around for the cap but then froze. He turned a suspicious eye at Maes. "Wait a minute, you know something about it?"

"Me? Heavens, no." His face dissolved into a look of innocence. Or one practiced for skilled deception. "I wouldn't understand the second word that came out of your dad's mouth if he ever were to start a discussion on his research with me."

Ed narrowed his eyes. "Right." He hoisted the shoulder strap over his head before reaching over to gather the last of his notebooks. A loose sheet of paper fluttered to the ground and before he could pick it up, Maes had already leapt at it like a tiger on a kill.

"Hm. Well look at this, Edward. I thought you graduated to drawing beyond stick and circles." Maes held up the piece of paper on which was a large perfect circle. The circle was not so special, but the design inside was an intricate sea of lines and arcs, woven together like a kaleidoscope of mesmerization. It was, Maes silently admitted, the most beautiful circle Ed had drawn up to date, considering that he had often snuck peeks at these curious images whenever he thought Ed wasn't looking. Sometimes he got caught, other times he didn't. As time passed, the circles grew more complex in design and structure, proving that they required more times and effort to create. But whenever he asked, Ed always claimed that they took him no more than an hour to draw.

Ed was really quite the talented artist, it seemed.

"Give me that." And Ed reached out to nearly rip the paper in half from his hand. Maes quickly let it go. To see that circle torn in two would really be a shame. "They're just patterns that pop into my head every now and then. Would you stop being so nosy?"

"If I'm not mistaken," said Maes, tapping his chin and carrying on as if he didn't hear Ed's earlier comment, "doesn't Hohenheim have the same kind of circles hung on the wall of his office? You know, you can use that as an icebreaker the next time you two are stuck in another one of those stifling bouts of silence that seems to stretch_ on and on_. I'm telling you, I nearly died from tension the last time I came around to your place for dinner."

Ed whirled around, now annoyed. "Listen, _Professor_ Hughes, although I do absolutely_ appreciate_ your attempts to patch up the awkward relationship I have with my father, it just _really_ isn't necessary. Why don't you concentrate on improving your bachelor life instead, and find yourself a nice and decent—" His face paled when he realized his mistake.

_Here it comes…_

"An excellent suggestion, Edward!" Maes nearly crowed with excitement. "I've got the perfect family in mind! A gorgeous, kind and loving wife who knows how to make the perfect apple pies! She'll dazzle everyone with her charm and make all the other wives jealous with her astounding beauty! And not to mention her—"

"Alright Maes, I'm leaving now," Edward said slowly.

"—because we'll have this _huge_ wedding! Er, I haven't decided who my best man will be yet—"

"…" Ed tugged impatiently at his long ponytail.

"—and do you know what our daughter's name will be? ELYSIA! She'll be the cutest, sweetest, most adorable little cupcake you'll ever meet! Because when you take one look into those wide and innocent eyes, you'll want nothing more than to cuddle—"

"Huges! Gods! I said that I'm leaving!"

"—don't worry about mission out on her birthdays or those other events, Ed, because I'll take so many pictures of her that it'll be _impossible_ to not be able to catch up and celebrate again on all the important moments. Of. Her. LIFE!!"

At this point, Ed completely gave up and match out the door.

---

The house was situated over at the outskirts of the city and Ed had always been annoyed at the fact that it took so long just to get home. He never understood why his father didn't want to move elsewhere closer to the university. Besides, they could both use the convenience.

He rounded the bend to where the back door was and rummaged for the keys in his coat pocket. The silver polish of the doorknob gleamed softly in that dark night and he grabbed it before taking a deep breath. Maes was wrong. It wasn't as if he had anything against his father. It was just—a feeling again. That feeling which he could not ignore no matter what. Anger, betrayal and hurt that always surfaced whenever he faced his father. He shook his head. Here he was, basing his opinions on something so unexplainable and absurd. His father had never once raised his voice at him and had treated him well for as long as he could remember. There was no real reason for this awful treatment. They only had each other.

The lock was acting up again, and he had to jimmy it twice before hearing the familiar click. He turned the knob, pushed the door in and turned on the kitchen light.

He wasn't prepared to see the chaotic scene inside.

Chairs were broken or upturned. The circular table was completely destroyed. Pieces of china littered the floor. Unusual long claw marks on the walls and cabinets brought him a sense of unexplainable fear.

He silently followed the destruction out the kitchen and into the main hallway with glass crunching below his feet. He jumped when the landscape painting near the front door crashed onto the floor and Ed could see the faint glow of something near the doorway. He approached and wine-red stones flashed dully in his eyes. He felt his heart burst at the sight but could not understand why.

Where was his father?

He crept back to the kitchen and found a long knife. He gripped the handle tightly and his hand shook from the effort. He was about to become foolishly brave. The house was completely dark save for the light he had turned on at the kitchen. No neighbours for miles around. The place his father would most likely be if he were home would be the basement. He knew he should call the police but something told him that it'll be useless. When did he become so pessimistic? But he also knew that this was no robbery.

He kept close to the wall as he walked towards the stairs. There was no doubt about it now. The wreckage probably started from the front door down to the basement.

Or the other way around.

The basement was not a place that he had visited often, and with the recent flurry of activity his father had started, the visits became non-existent. But he remembered the number of steps he must take in order to reach the bottom, carefully counting his way down.

A soft blue light barely illuminated the room. It was so dim that he wondered how anyone could navigate around the place, having bumped into several things already. Yet this dim light appeared to come from everywhere at once, and he wondered again how this could be.

"Dad!" he called out, not entirely sure if it was the smartest thing to do. He tried not to touch anything as he made his way past tables of stacked notes and flasks of liquid. A heating stove and another stirring bar, more beakers and measuring devices. Ed felt himself smile despite the situation. He understood this too well. Research was something that never ended.

He continued walking, not sure of what to expect and fearing for the worst. The basement was designed so that it spanned out further than it did upstairs. He stumbled on several fallen objects, relying more on feeling his way around rather than on his sight. Then, he could smell it—the unmistakable stench of blood.

"Dad!" he shouted out again. Geez, why didn't he try to turn on the basement light before? He blinked blindly, trying to find where the smell was coming from. He walked to an area strangely cleared of all furniture and equipment. He suddenly tripped on something and went sprawling to the ground. Groaning, he clutched his head, then froze when he find the body of his father lying facedown on the floor.

"Dad!" Ed quickly sat up and flipped his father over. There was a serious bleeding wound on his stomach. He remembered the knife in his hand and immediately dropped it. He felt sick and dizzy.

_Oh my God. Oh my God. _He chanted mentally as he patted his father's cheek_. Wake up, dammit! Phone, phone—_he looked around wildly_. Where the damn hell was the phone!_

He felt his father's body shift slightly and he froze again. His father was staring at him.

"Edward," his voice was weak and pained. Ed felt like crumbling inside.

"Dad! It's ok! Don't move. Just relax. I'll—I'll find the phone—and a doctor will be on his way—"

Hohenheim grabbed his arm. It was surprisingly strong. "Edward," he said again, staring straight at him with clear eyes. "I've been waiting for you."

"Yes, I'm here now. You're hurt badly. Just give me a minute to call emergency and we can talk all you want later—" Ed tried to tug his father's hand off him. "Dad," he said desperately, "let go of me."

"Listen, Edward. I haven't said anything up to now, and I know you won't understand this just yet, but—I'm sorry."

"Stop talking like that! You'll be fine! Let me get up! You've scaring me!" Ed pulled harder but in a sudden movement, his father flipped him onto the floor. He pushed Ed's shoulders down so hard that Ed felt cried out in pain. He looked up at his father in shock.

"I know you are confused, but I don't have any time left. The more I wait, the less my worth becomes. Let this old man do one last thing for you." Hohenheim reached into his shirt and pulled out a strange dagger. It glowed and the swirls of colours encased in its volume flared up like dancing lights. Ed watched in amazement as those colours lifted themselves up from the dagger and floated—

Towards him.

"I've been working on this for a long time now," his father said tiredly, "but it was only recently that I got any breakthroughs. It is hard to find loopholes in the system."

The colours danced closer and Ed was helpless as they started to lay themselves on his chest. As the colours leeched out, the dagger itself flickered once, twice, then turned into a brilliant wine-red—much like the stones he had seen just before…

His father saw his reaction and smiled mysteriously. "I know you'll be angry with this—as you have always been angry with me—but I'm afraid that with this gamble, I won't be able to improve on much else. Angel transformation works on principles that are difficult understand, and the exchanges are valued differently between people, and thoughts, and memories…"

Ed lifted his head to see the image formed on his chest. The rainbow swirl glimmered in his eyes and his breath hitched when he found himself staring at the same kind of abstract patterns he had been drawing all this time…

"You had done it too, once— if you remember— exchanging your life for someone you had loved so dearly. And now, I will do the same." He coughed violently, blood spilling down his chin. "But in the end, it seems that I can only restore half of you—half will, half power, half life…but your alchemy will definitely return…"

"What the _fuck_ are you talking about, you crazy coot!" Ed finally snapped and started to thrash wildly. "Get off me! You need to get to a hospital!"

Appearing frustrated for the first time, Hohenheim grabbed Ed's collar. "Listen to me, Ed! They want me to create another Philosopher's Stone, but this—" he angrily shook the hand holding the dagger, "—will be the last one I'll ever make! Angels killing each other is something that I have seen too much. How will I find peace when I see your mother's face every time I close my eyes?" He took a deep, shuddering breath. "I am selfish, I admit—I would rather hide in this human world and watch you grow as I should have done before… but if you don't value me, at least remember to value the one family you left behind!!"

He raised the knife over his head and the dim blue glow that had spread throughout the room suddenly condensed, took life and surged into the ground. It carved a large perfect circle around them, and from this circle, branched inward another extraordinary pattern of lines.

Ed screamed when his father drove the knife deep into his heart. The array beneath them erupted in a sea of light that reached all the way to the high ceiling. It was so bright at that instant that Ed wasn't sure if he saw feathery wings stretch from his father's back—

But he did hear the unmistakable screech of metal grating against metal, much like opening a rusty set of heavy gates, and felt his father being lifted away from him. He could faintly make out the soft, sad smile on his father's lips.

_Wait_. Ed wanted to say. _Don't go. What do you mean? You are my only family._

But he was so tired and everything hurt too much. His eyelids grew heavier with each passing second. What a day, he thought with the last vestige of consciousness. Only his idiot father would look so carefree at a time like this. First getting hurt so badly then attacking his son like a possessed madman. He was always going ahead and doing things with no regard of the consequences.

Did he not even realize that Ed was so concerned for him?

Have they ever agreed on anything?

God, he never could understand his father.

-----to be continued.

AN: updates will be random and whimsical.


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